Memento Mori
by x-butterflykisses-x
Summary: "I have been so many people since then; some kind, some cruel, they take it in turns to claw their way to the surface." A series of vignettes following the course of Hal's 500 or so years. Will Lord Harry find the relief he has been seeking?
1. Carnevale

_"I have been so many people since then; some kind, some cruel, they take it in turns to claw their way to the surface." – Hal_

* * *

**Venice**

**1735**

220 years, seven months and 14 days since a lance was shoved through his chest; two whole centuries since Orsha; one endless night since he had been offered eternity.

The gilded masks that fluttered past were only mildly distracting, the frenzied music failed to rouse his thoughts and the smell of perfumed whores barely caused a stirring in his chest. Venice was full of an untamed life, desperately trying to pull him towards it, willing for him to revel in the excess. Hedonism was their trade and he their unwilling partner.

His bones were heavy, his soul blackened by a pact made with the Devil and not for the first time he was tired. He had spent years drifting, moving from city to city, a trail of blood running behind him and a sense that something more lay waiting for him. Men and women alike had fallen prey to his appetite, his insatiable need for blood and carnage. His thirst for it had been awoken on the battlefield and now it was all that drove him – the burning, throbbing desire to feed.

From the moment he had risen from the blood soaked ground one idea had dominated his very conscious. He thought he would be driven mad by his need for it, a thirst that would not be quenched by water or wine. He had entered into an unearthly alliance; every remaining ounce of his humanity that he had not lost to war or strife had been ripped from him in return for life, of sorts.

Entering into the Doge's Palace he was greeted by countless figures, each and everyone masked, rich fabric covering their frames. Women glanced towards him as he moved past, his gaze drifting towards their necks, to the delicate layer of skin across their clavicle. He could hear their heart beats as the warm blood pumped through their veins. Procuring himself a drink of wine he waited for something vaguely amusing to float into his path.

"They wont find out Portia," a youth hissed as he attempted to pull a woman back towards him. "There's no harm, we're going to be married anyway."

"But we are not married yet Carlo," Portia replied hotly, tugging more insistently on her arm.

"It's a matter of weeks," Carlo tried his best to appease this fiancée, his left hand reaching out to stroke the exposed part of her cheek.

Slapping the offending limb out of the way Portia took her chance to step away, only to find herself stumbling into a stranger.

"Oh, I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to…"

"Not at all my lady, please, would you do me the honour of a dance as I attempt to redeem myself for my poor manners."

"Your poor manners?" Portia questioned in disbelief.

"Yes, I should have moved out of the way."

Portia laughed, her hand already finding its way to the one proffered. "And your name?"

"You might call me Harry," the vampire smiled.

Leading Portia away from a silent Carlo, the older man pulled the girl closer towards him, Venice was many things but prudish it was not.

"I might be able to forgive you for being in my way, but my Aunt would not approve," Portia commented as she looked pointedly down. The gap between their bodies was virtually non-existent, and with every breath her chest was pushed into his.

"And I thought I was rescuing you," Harry returned mildly.

"I hardly need rescuing from my betrothed," came Portia's tart response.

"Well, you wouldn't be the first," Harry grinned as he led the woman confidently across the floor. "But I still think you might show a little gratitude."

"I shall do nothing of the sort, Carlo would have stopped."

"After he'd had his way I'm sure," Harry paused to drink in Portia's appearance. Auburn hair falling in a mass of curls, a pair of green eyes could just be seen from behind her mask, full lips were parted in a silent question and the vampire inwardly smiled. "He can give you a fine house I'm sure, he'll be able to keep you in dresses and buy your forgiveness with jewels. But I wouldn't count on much else."

"I buried my notions of love a long time ago, all I can do is obey my husband when the time comes." Portia felt the words pour forth and for a second she wasn't sure if she believed them. Wide eyed in shock, the Venetian wondered where the sudden candor had come from.

"Maybe you deserve more…" Harry's thumb drew circles across the skin of her back, he hadn't meant for this to become a seduction, but things had a habit of getting away from him.

"What do you know of what I deserve? You only just met me." To her credit Portia kept her voice level, despite the thoughts that were beginning to boil under the surface.

"Because everyone deserves more." As the words left the vampire's lips, his mouth grazed the side of Portia's ear; the scent of her skin intermingling with her perfumed hair and Harry felt a stirring. "Because I could show you more."

Portia bit back a sigh, "You could show me your bed, you mean."

"Perhaps," Harry conceded as his grip tightened on Portia's body, his lips hovering inches from her neck and he could hear her blood sing. For all his talk of presenting her with a different world, he wanted to bite her, to take her to some dark corner and drain the life from her.

"You haven't run away," the vampire suddenly realized. "You're interested."

"I'm not…" Portia stuttered.

Bringing the two to a sudden halt, his leg pushing itself between hers, Lord Harry clutched the girl to him. Portia's heart pounding against his chest he wondered if he could change her. He was never without company, but they were there to sustain him. She could be different. The feel of Portia's supple body pressed against his was overwhelming and the need to have her was fast becoming all-consuming.

"Just say it," Harry whispered feverishly, his mouth inches from hers. Scanning the room for any unwanted onlookers, chiefly Portia's fiancé, Harry grasped the woman by her shoulders, his eyes boring into hers, trying to convey the weight of his argument with one hard, desperate look. "Just say that you want more and I will give it to you. I'll give it all to you."

Portia's cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright as she tried to control her breathing. With a sudden wave of recklessness she quickly snatched off her mask before reaching up and untying the black ribbon that secured his. Letting the blue lacquered mask fall to the floor she touched the skin covering his cheeks. Her fingers traced the contour of his bones, down further 'till they landed on his lips.

There were lines across his face that didn't belong there, a long buried secret that was hidden behind his old eyes. But she felt a strange compulsion to bring herself closer to him.

"We could leave," Harry's fingers crept into Portia's hair, grasping tightly he pulled her upwards. Their faces were so close he could feel her breath across his lips.

"And go where?" Came Portia's strained whisper, her heart twisted in her chest as she contemplated a life away from Venice.

"Anywhere, and we'll start tonight."

* * *

**A/N: **Cannot help myself, I just want to write about Hal! Anyway, please let me know what you think!


	2. La Belle Époque

**Folies Bergère, Paris **

**1892**

* * *

A solitary tendril of smoke drifted upwards, lonely in its elegant dance. Eventually its climb ended at the lofty ceiling, where it joined the choking cloud that on the verge of dissipation would only be replenished by the many patrons of Foiles Bergère.

The room was overly warm, one too many bodies pressed together in a constant state of excitement. A welcome contrast to the world on the other side of the door, outside the rain had turned to snow and the streets of Paris were not only cold but treacherous.

"Have you noticed them?" A sharp, sardonic voice whipped through the thick air.

Hal's eyes which just moments before had been fixed on the dancer currently spinning across the stage turned to his companion.

"You mean the surly lot siting in the corner?" Hal replied curtly, his hand drifting to a glass of wine.

The vampire had come to Paris only six months earlier; his last visit marked by the loss of several heads at the Place de La Concorde by Madame Guillotine. But now it was the beautiful century and Hal thought he might once more visit the French capital. Some 37 years ago he had parted company with Fergus – a fit of contrition driving him to try and give up blood, leaving without so much as a word to the other vampire Lord Harry had made a bid for sobriety.

"Yes." Hal's friend nodded. The newcomer had a thin frame, sharp features in a slim face. His long fingers were curled elegantly round the handle of a sabre concealed in the ubiquitous walking stick. Squeezing the mahogany handle fondly the other vampire looked towards Hal, gauging his friend's reaction.

"I could smell them when we first arrived. Odd, I didn't think dogs were one for cabaret." Hal commented mildly, draining his glass. "Do you think we ought to say hello?"

"You're spoiling for a fight."

"Nonsense Nathanial," Hal chided softly. "Besides I wouldn't do anything as uncivil as to start a public brawl."

"Do you not recall the two of us being thrown out of a public house on Fetter Lane for that exact reason?"

"1612?"

"1615."

Hal smiled at the faded memory, "Youthful exuberance."

"And in another 100 years you'll be telling me this fight was a product of boredom."

"Another hundred?" Hal barely concealed the sigh that came shuddering from his chest.

"How old will you be then?" Nathanial questioned as he fidgeted with his collar.

"502 give or take."

"And how many have you turned?"

"How many have I bequeathed the legacy of enteral life? One too many," Hal hastily poured another glass of wine, his throat tightening, his voice hollow.

Nathanial sighed, before prodding further "Do you know where they are now?"

Hal's eyes drifted back over to the group of werewolves in the corner of the grand ballroom.

"I couldn't say. Fergus no doubt is still cutting a bloody path for himself…"

"And the others?"

"Portia… Well I suppose she's somewhere."

Nathaniel frowned at Hal's apparent avoidance; the woman's name seemed to hang in the air for a brief second before crashing to the floor, a veritable lead balloon.

"Did you love her?"

It seemed to be the pertinent question, Hal Yorke did not show emotion, all you could do was intimate and hope you had asked the right thing.

Hal coughed, turning back to stare at the dancer. Portia had been his first sober companion, the horror of feeding on humans had been enough for her to abstain, her will power had kept them both dry, for a while at least. But Hal had never found it easy when it came to women, something about the way they moved, the curve of their backs and their easy smiles. From the moment Hal had been awakened he knew the carnal need to feed was inextricably linked to sex.

A young German girl had proved his downfall. He still remembered her delicate neck, the soft creamy skin that had given way irresistibly under his teeth. Clenching the tabletop Hal attempted to shake the thoughts, the music coming from the orchestra's pit was beginning to pound in his head, each heartbeat tenfold louder as the strings kept up the frantic tempo. Every body in the room was suddenly singing a siren's song and he felt his throat constrict painfully, he wanted it.

Noticing his friends discomfort Nathanial placed a hand on Hal's arm, momentarily pulling the older vampire from out of his reverie.

"I loved her for as long as she let me," Hal offered truthfully. "In the end she proved to be the stronger of the two us but she couldn't forgive me for what I was."

"A vampire?" Nathanial questioned, his eyebrow arching delicately.

Hal shook his head, "A monster."

"We're not…" the other vampire began.

"I am." Hal's jaw clenched. "Every ounce of feeling that might have once made me human is gone Nathanial. I am a bottomless pit of hunger and death. I feed off innocent people and I look upon their lives with contempt. They are merely specks on my infinite horizon… "

Rising abruptly Hal knocked aside his wine glass, smoothing back his hair he marched towards the table housing the group of werewolves. Chasing after his friend Nathaniel felt a sigh escape his chest.

Hal was fairly certain his eyes were black, but for the moment he didn't care about causing mass panic, in fact he welcomed the thought. Stopping short of the table Hal offered a smile, in place of melancholy there stood Lord Harry.

"Get up dog," he whispered vehemently.

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**A/N: **Hope you liked it! Please let me know what you think!


	3. West Of The Hudson

**New York City**

**1952**

* * *

"You wanna slice of pie to go with the coffee?"

The waitress leant over the counter, her red lipstick was applied somewhat imperfectly, the chip on her front tooth adding character to an ordinary smile. Her blonde hair looked cheap, her stockings old and the soles of her shoes worn thin; but in spite of her tired surroundings and her threadbare clothes, she maintained a certain vibrancy. Humming a constant nameless tune as she moved about the diner, coffee pot in hand, apron slung around her waist, the waitress offered up easy smiles.

"I'm fine thank you," Hal replied softly, his hazel eyes drifting upwards to meet the woman's. As per usual she giggled, most women did. There were other things Hal looked for: they might cross their legs, sigh, fix their hat or worry at a small worthless pendant that dangled from their neck – their most prized possession.

"You sure I can't tempt you? Best apple pie in the Tristate area."

Hal resisted a grin, "Temptation is such a funny word don't you think?"

"Funny how?"

"There's a lot of it going around…" Hal paused as the bell announcing the arrival of a customer tinkled. Glancing over his shoulder the vampire smiled. "Take my friend for example."

"Him?" The waitress jerked her head towards the newcomer removing his hat and coat before hanging them on the stand provided.

Hal nodded, "I've tempted him into doing rather a lot."

"Like?"

"Leave his wife," Hal replied sharply before sipping on his coffee.

"Why did you do that?" The waitress questioned, her voice faltering momentarily.

"Because I could."

"That seems a whole lot of unfair," the waitress eyed the man approaching the counter with a mixture of pity and wonder.

Hal laughed, "Life is, isn't it? But back to temptation, I'd have to say youare rather tempting."

"She _is_ rather," the stranger sat next to Hal, pulling a menu towards him. "Coffee please darling."

Reaching out on reflex the woman poured a cup, her eyes flicking uncertainly between the two men. She was used to attention, but it was normally confined to playful flirting; nothing like this – nothing this mercenary, nothing so carnivorous. Nevertheless she was flattered, handsome strangers didn't often blow into her part of town.

Attempting a disarming laugh the waitress patted back her hair, "Both of you stop! You're making me blush!"

"Oh but you don't know the half of it Stella," Hal insisted, his hand shooting out to touch the waitress' as his gaze whipped to her name badge. "The fine hairs on the back of your neck that cling to your very scent. Your slim, delicate wrists – every vein visible under the taught skin, and those full painted lips that call for our attention."

"I saw it in Vogue…." Stella whispered, her coffee pot landing with a thud against the counter. Glancing over Hal's shoulder she only just noticed all the shutters had been drawn. "Where's Jimmy?"

"Yes Cutler, where is Jimmy?" Hal questioned, his face full of open honesty.

"Jimmy had to go home. He said we should see you back safe though." Cutler grinned, but all well meaning was lost with the show of teeth.

"I'll just take the subway."

"Nonsense, we have a car." Hal strengthened his grip on Stella's hand as he pulled her arm towards him. His thumb drew a delicate pattern on the inside of her wrist, marveling at the warmth.

He didn't know why he had chosen this particular diner, but Cutler had been willing enough to go along. As it turned out, Cutler was a somewhat messy eater, a cat with an unfortunate squealing rodent caught between its teeth.

"It's really no trouble," Cutler added, a glint of something in his eyes. And for a brief second the diner's lights flickered with the passing of a train and in that horrible moment Stella could have sworn Cutler's eyes were black.

"Oh I couldn't put you out of your way…"

"But you must be tempted?" Hal smiled widely, echoing Stella's earlier sentiment but his words were laden with a compelling menace.

"Jimmy made us promise," Cutler chimed in, and Stella saw something else lurking behind the veneer of respectability, a child like greed for something she could offer.

"Come now," Hal said soothingly before standing and reaching out with his elegant fingers to cup the side of Stella's face. "We're just two tourists looking to offer our services to a stranded local. Now, you'll accept our offer?"

The woman nodded meekly, her eyes fixed on Hal's. There was an irresistible need to follow him into the dark, to swallow whatever promises he threw at her and accept that she was his to do with what he pleased.

Leading the woman by the hand Hal took Stella out the back entrance of the diner, the bins close to spilling over and the guttering streetlight barely illuminating the cramped space.

"It's just down here!" Cutler called out, sing song. His overcoat billowing in the wind as he took several strides forward, dragging the girl along with him. Cutler's infantile excitement about the prospect of ripping out a woman's throat never failed to cause a twisted feeling of pleasure run through Hal's stomach. The man had once tired to defy him; he had attempted to carry out the ridiculous and pretend to be human, recanting blood and all that went with it. But they all came back; their love for it outweighed their horror and mental torment. And Cutler most of all, he had thrown himself into his new life, once the minor setback of his wife had been dealt with. Cutler's thirst made him both something wretched to behold and an ideal playmate for Lord Harry.

But then there were moments in darkened alleys; blood dripping from his mouth, a heart's final beat ringing in his ears that Hal wondered if it was all for nothing. A moment of cheap gratification to bury away the torment, to mask the pain of the horrible realization he was a killer, a monster that took life for the pleasure of it. Not for blood, not for survival, but because he could.

The sound of Stella's muffled scream snapped him back, Cutler had grown impatient, the waitress' head was pulled back in order for the vampire to gain full access to her neck. His teeth sank into her flesh and his eyes were black, the boy reveled in it. Hal walked the few steps towards their parked car, pulling open the boot her revealed the gagged girl they had found earlier in the downstairs bar at their hotel. Grabbing her by the hair he wrenched her from the small compartment. Hal's eyes met the girl's and for a second a flicker of hope glinted in hers.

"No my dear, you shall have to wait for absolution. I'm afraid you'll meet your end here. Because you see, I just can't help myself."

Pulling the girl towards him Hal bit down into her neck. Life was rushing from her body, the heady mix of blood and utter control were intoxicating. Why would he ever stop this? He had been cast the villain and why go against type?

* * *

**A/N: **Just finished this off the back of watching tonights episode. Can I say eek?! Hope you liked this and as always, let me know what you think.


	4. Recruitment

**Orsha**

**1514**

* * *

Henry felt something rip through his chest. A broken lance protruded from his ruined chainmail; an ugly, jagged piece of wood cleaved in two standing triumphant. Slumping into the muddy, churned up ground Harry knocked back his helmet, sucking in a labored breath his gloved hands crept towards the splintered lance, wrapping his digits around the wood he attempted to wrench the weapon free.

A choked cry of desperation was all that he could muster, the pain was too much and his arms fell uselessly to his side. By some strange miracle the lance had missed his heart, but had most probably punctured a lung, and with every continued beat more blood was being forced from out of his open wound. Harry could have laughed, they had stood with their arquebuses, in front of them horsemen, plate armor glinting in the sun, their standards fluttering in the wind as the ground thundered. Some of the horses had fallen under their fire but the wave continued. The endless wave of human bodies rolled forward, there never seemed to be a shortage of men to follow some prince into battle. Life was being lost all around him and little did anyone care.

Rolling onto his back Henry stared at the rapidly darkening sky, he could feel the oncoming storm. The ground was soaked with blood, dead bodies lay strewn across the battlefield but God would have it washed clean. Harry knew death would soon claim him, to Hell he would be carried, if such a place existed. Born of a whore and to whatever man had the coin to pay, he was not the making of a lord. Instead Henry had run away to sea, falling into a crowd of mercenaries he soon learnt that he could scratch a living from profiting from others countries' wars. He had seen it all and done more, he had sunk chest deep into the pit of human excrement that littered the earth and the small smiling boy that had hid amongst the skirts of those laughing women was no more. Humanity had long left him with the tattered remnants of a soul, shredded by the constant deluge of horror and death.

He was cold now. His heart still beating, but each time it grew feebler. They were coming now, the camp followers, to strip the bodies of whatever value they could find. Harry hoped it would come soon; death would be a welcome relief after this. Cool hands were suddenly upon his body and Henry clenched his fist, but he was too weak to fend off the unnamed shadow.

In one sharp movement the lance was wrenched free of his chest, Harry could have sworn he heard the air escape his chest.

"Do you want me to help you?"

Henry swallowed, his mouth dry, his lips painfully cracked. "I want you to let me die."

"And after that?"

"Hell surely?" Henry let out a small chuckle as a bubble of blood burst at the corner of his mouth.

"You think you're damned?"

"I have killed men and what's worse is that I enjoyed it. My soul if there is anything left of it, is black. Damnation has already found me…" Harry whispered, allowing his head to fall back into the dirt.

"Yes," the stranger nodded. "I have found you."

Henry frowned; there was something odd about the man that had found him on the battlefield. "What do you know of it?"

The man smiled, "I live as one damned. But I can help you; I can let you live of sorts. You will have this earth and every soul in it could be yours."

"You don't even know me." Harry whispered, his eyes closing momentarily.

"I have time though, and I could give it to you as well."

"My name is Henry, you should know that at least."

"John."

Harry gave the man hovering over him a weak smile, "Then I ask for your help John."

John nodded before his eyes turned black.

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**A/N: **Hope you liked this one and any feedback is always appreciated!


	5. The Loss of Heaven

**Seine-et-Marne**

**1810**

* * *

He could hear her footsteps. Each stocking clad foot placed deliberately in front of the other as she tried to mask the sound of her arrival. His gut clenched, the muscles in his body twisting into one glorious knot and for the life of him he would not have her untie him. The smell of her skin wafted towards him as the open windows let in the summer breeze, the morning sun kissing his pale skin.

Several strands of auburn hair landed on his shoulder, her chin resting delicately on the top of his head.

"Hal," she whispered.

And despite himself the vampire smiled, for all her efforts she still struggled with the 'H'.

"Sylvie…." Her name reverberated in the air; the exquisite feel of her skin against his was marked indelibly into his brain.

"We could stay in this room all day," the woman suggested, her lips brushing past his ear as she wrapped her arms around him.

Shifting in his chair Hal's finger danced a delicate pattern across Sylvie's bare arm.

"You would have us stay in this room forever," Hal mused.

Grabbing the woman from behind him Hal pulled her into his lap, her slender legs dangling over the armrest.

"Do you blame me?" Sylvie smiled, her full lips parting to reveal her teeth. Hal felt it again, the ache in his stomach. So deep and so profound that he thought he would never be free of her, a willing servant for all of his days.

Pressing his thumb gently on Sylvie's lips he smiled, her love had kept him whole and safe. Admiring the delicate spray of freckles across her snub nose Hal bent down and placed a gentle kiss on Sylvie's mouth. The feel of her lips so pliant beneath his was a moment he clung to, the beat of her heart against his chest a familiar tune.

Wrapping her delicate fingers amongst Hal's hair Sylvie brought his head up as she fixed him with a stare.

"I would have you seduce me, Hal."

"I'm afraid I have already done that, Sylvie." Hal grinned, punctuating his next words with three kisses across her neck. "Many, many times."

"I demand that you do it again," Sylvie flung herself from out of Hal's lap. Landing steadily her brown eyes danced with mischief, quickly clambering onto the bed her hands wrapping around one of the four posts Sylvie swung outwards, her feet keeping a grip on the mattress.

"We really wont leave this bedroom if you keep this up," Hal commented softly, already walking towards Sylvie.

"Finally, we understand each other. You are clearly my play thing, to be used when I desire." Sylvie laughed, waiting for the man to cross the room.

Sylvie's auburn hair caught the light, a wide smile playing across her lips and for a second Hal stopped. She was something magnificent, so soft and understanding yet underneath the layers lurked something brazen.

"Is this all there is to our relationship?" The vampire feigned injury, a smile hidden but barely contained.

"Why else would I keep you here Mister Yorke?"

"Oh for a moment I thought it was the pleasure of my company…"

Sylvie held her breath, as if considering his statement before shaking her head. "No, I just want your body."

Hal gave off what could only be described as a growl before he marched towards the laughing woman and grabbed her by the waist. Taking a few quick steps he had her back pressed against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist. In the brief moment of repose, before Hal left Sylvie gasping for breath, her heart pounding violently against his chest, she whispered the only words that were not lost to her.

"I love you."

Hal let them wash over him; Sylvie had somehow managed to see what was worth saving in him. She had chosen to pour every ounce of love she had into him, willing that he could find it within himself to seek redemption. To believe that he was a man who deserved to be pulled from the pit of depravity that he had made himself.

And there were moments, moments like this one when Hal thought he was ever closer to rediscovering the humanity he had long thought lost. It was with Sylvie in his arms that he felt closest to it, in these brief seconds he never felt so alive, so human, so impossibly loved.

* * *

He had turned the horse smartly, the sun was sitting square above the house and for a few glorious minutes the inhabitants thought all was well. It was only when their lord and master returned that the reality of the situation dawned on them.

The maids had tried to run, but it had only served to egg him on. The footmen had attempted to protect the women but their throats had been just as easily ripped out. The bottoms of his shoes were covered in sticky blood, the red substance awash on the floors as another servant fell at his feet. Each bared neck gave way beneath his teeth and a pool of blood rushed into his mouth.

Mounting the stair he walked towards their shared room, flinging open the door her saw her on the bed. There was no fear in her eyes; something else lingered there instead. But Harry didn't care; all he wanted to feel was the life leave her body. He wanted to hold her against him until her heart stopped beating, until he had drained her of every drop of blood.

She tasted sweet, the words she had whispered to him moments before drifted from his conscious like smoke on the wind. He just didn't give a damn.

A small gargle escaped her parted lips.

"Goodbye Sylvie."

* * *

**A/N: **I wrote this with the conversation Hal has with Crumb in "The Greater Good" episode in mind, and as developments in the show seem to suggest Hal has an on/off switch that will just flip occasionally.

Anyway! Hope you enjoyed my take on it, and please let me know what you think!


	6. Speak Easy

**Chicago **

**1929**

* * *

Her hair was shorter now, her locks pinned up about her cheeks. A feathered headband was wrapped around her crown, long beaded necklaces coiled around her throat as the layers to her dress jumped to the beat. She was in the arms of some laughing boy; his hair gelled back from his face as he swung his dance partner round, their legs kicking in time to the music.

Hal smiled; finally after years he had found her again, he hadn't been looking for her of course. But the vampire always found the universe had a funny way of throwing things into lap. This time it was Portia, the girl he had convinced to run away with him. He was surprised she had lasted this long and not for the first time he wondered if she had changed.

As Portia's partner spun her outwards she turned to face Hal, and across the crowded room their eyes met. In that moment the world stopped. The band ceased to play. And for a second Hal was convinced he was about to be crushed under the weight of everything. The looks of disappoint and disgust Portia had once thrown at him were brought sharply to mind, and Hal had every intention of turning away. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face the truth. Not when she would be his accuser.

Hal was ready to leave just as Portia was pulled back towards her partner, the boy placed his hand on the small of her back and Hal felt a stirring. Walking through the crowd he wondered if she'd let him interrupt, they had parted on bad terms after all.

"May I cut in?" Hal questioned, his hand resting firmly on the shoulder of the boy.

"Sure," the boy shrugged carelessly, acquiescing to Hal's request.

Portia however was not as easily accepting, there was a visible tension sitting across her shoulders.

"Just one dance, for old times sake?" the vampire questioned softly.

"Fine," Portia nodded stiffly her hand landing in Hal's proffered one.

Turning to face each other the music quickly shifted as a singer took the stage, the slower tempo requireing them to adopt a closer stance, Hal felt Portia stiffen.

A choked laugh escaped from Portia's throat as she pressed herself against Hal, silent tears coursing down her cheeks.

"Am I blue?" Portia echoed the words of the singer, as Hal lead her around the dance floor with assured skill.

"Portia?" Hal questioned, doing his best to meat the woman's eyes.

"Ain't these tears in my eyes tellin' you?"

"Portia…. I didn't meant to…"

"Didn't mean to what Harry?"

"Hal, Harry's a little antiquated."

Portia let out a snort despite herself, "I suppose you have to keep up with the times."

"I try my best," the older vampire gave her a rueful smile.

"Stopppit, just stoppit Hal."

"Stop what?"

"Stop being your charming self, I forget how lovely you are when you want to be." Portia rushed out in one breath.

"And why can't you forget?" Hal questioned, his grip tightening around her hand.

"Because it's not supposed to be that easy," Portia replied firmly.

"And I suppose you've never slipped?"

Portia swallowed, "I couldn't help myself…. But I never reveled in it."

"Whereas I did." Hal's voice was hollow, resigned to the realization that he harbored some dark creature in his chest that continually inched its way to the forefront of his conscious.

"I was afraid," Portia offered meekly. "I was afraid you'd drag me down with you. I didn't want to see myself become you."

"You wouldn't," Hal quickly reassured, his eyes searching for hers. "You were always stronger than me. Better."

"What about now? Are you...?" Portia didn't have to finish the question.

Hal remained silent, racketeering and blood were his trade now, the others knew of his appetite, but he didn't want to flaunt it in front of her. A wave of something akin to regret was churning in his chest, every once in a while he was gripped with devastating need to purge himself of every sinful act. But the blood washed away all manner of deeds and all would be forgotten.

"You're not ready to try are you?" Portia whispered.

"I'm 30 years in, "Hal swallowed. "They have me for at least another 20."

"And I don't."

Portia's arms dropped from around his. Slowly walking away she left Hal in a crowded room, the weight of their past too much for either of them to bear.

* * *

**A/N: **Hope you liked this one! A little bit sad that BH is nearly over, at least I'll have fanfic to sustain me.


End file.
